


Counting Your Stars

by twelvicity (Rii)



Series: Little Bears and Little Hearts [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fatherhood, Kid Fic, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Queer Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rii/pseuds/twelvicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull and Dorian become the fathers of a pair of baby girls.  Dorian wants his daughters to have a bright and wonderful future.  Bull wants Dorian to be happy.  Both of them want for it never to end, but they know that's not possible.  All they can do is keep to the present.</p><p>A collection of largely self-contained scenes about Bull and Dorian as parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On Care

**Author's Note:**

> This fic series is a companion to an earlier story, titled "[The Little Heart.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4781231)" It contains mpreg, which I understand isn't everyone's cup of tea, so I posted it separately. It's not necessary to read it for this story to make sense, so if you're just here for the kid fic, here you go!

Krem was the first to have the honor of meeting the girls properly.  He got his chance the morning after, when they’d already had their first bottles, preceded by their first early-morning-screaming-wake-ups.  Dorian fed them, after whispering that, no, _Bull_ was the one that needed to rest and he would strap the great man down to the bed if he did anything otherwise.  Bull chuckled, daring him to do so, but he obeyed.

The babies fit comfortably in Krem’s arm’s.  They were thicker than Dorian’s, and able to hold a lot more.  “I have to admit it, Chief,” he said, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Thought you only had _one_ , but I guess you had a little more.”

Bull sighed, frowning when he heard Dorian laughing.  “What?  That was _clever_ ,” he admitted.

“Damn Vints, conspiring against me,” Bull grumbled.

Sera was next, showing up at the house entirely uninvited but not at all unwelcome.  The look on her face when she first saw the girls was a magnificent mix of adoration, excitement, and long-term-plotting.

“You had twinsies!” she said.

“Yep, we sure did,” Bull said.

“Are they gonna be all, y’know, identical and stuff?” Sera said, standing on her toes to peek into the crib they currently shared.  “They’re kinda squishy-faced right now, yeah?  Can’t tell.”

“Probably not,” Bull replied.  “Cordula’s got horn-buds, but Ursula doesn’t.  But maybe that’s all it’ll be.”

“Aww, is that what you’ve named them!” Sera said.  “Real proper-soundin’.  Bet they were Dorian’s idea.”

“They _were_ , thank you,” Dorian said.

Sera made a dismissive, affectionate noise.  “Psh!  Just as long as they aren’t raised to be all snooty and stuff,” she said.  “I’m not worried with you lot, though.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Sera,” Dorian said.

Sera lapsed into a short fit of giggles, and rested her arms and head on the side of the crib.  “Oh, you two are gonna be so much _fun_ ,” she murmured, though not to anyone in particular.

It was largely Sera’s involvement that got the news to spread across the Skyhold compound that there were _two_ new arrivals instead of the expected one.  Adaar showed up with a bit of egg still left on her face, very much interrupted from her breakfast by Sera’s news.

“Ohh, this one’s not going to have horns!” she said, before they could tell her their names.  “That’s good luck, my mother told me.”

Bull made a strange gesturing shrug, as if to say “What’d I tell you?”  Dorian frowned and rolled his eyes.

“I’m really happy for you two,” she continued, later.  “I’m, uh, not very good with kids or anything, but, y’know, if you need the help.  I, uh, got… connections.  And things.”

“We’ll let you know, Boss,” Bull said.  Adaar spent a few moments more cooing over the girls, before returning to her duties for that day.

The rest of the inquisition filtered through like so many aunts and uncles and cousins, here and there, when they had time, and always insisting on holding one or both of the girls at some point.  Dorian acted as host for most of the day, since Bull was tired and went back to bed early, emerging once or twice for food.

“I’m not even going to try and understand _how_ you two did this,” Blackwall said, holding Cordula with a surprising degree of tenderness, “but you got this far, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

(He denied that he wanted more time with her when somebody else wanted a turn, and spent the rest of the afternoon in the stables, chipping enthusiastically away at a block of wood.)

“Y’know, I can’t help but feel an idea coming on.  Plucky girl adventurers.”  Varric was one of the few that insisted on holding both of the girls at once, since, he claimed, he couldn’t see into the crib without a stepping-stool.  He had to get his glimpses where he could.  “ _The Terrible Twins of Tevinter._   That’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Please, don’t,” Dorian said.

“Dear, tell me,” Vivienne said, standing authoritatively over the crib, refusing to hold either of them, “will you have them in coordinating outfits until they can dress themselves?”

“Matching outfits?” Dorian said, laughing slightly.  “Is this some ironic Orlesian trend?”

“ _Coordinating_ , my dear.  _Matching_ is for themed balls and the unimaginative,” Vivienne said.  “They each need a signature color.  Red for Ursula, I think.  She’s got a warmer complexion.”

“She’s only a day old!  Everything _about_ her is red right now.”

“Trust me, darling.  Red.  With accents in gold and black,” Vivienne said.

The visitors petered out as the day went on, and the girls lapsed in and out of sleep in between.  When Bull and Dorian finally settled in together for the night, they were, themselves, so exhausted that they were both asleep within minutes.

When one of them woke, late, late into the night, Bull was the one that rose, mumbling to Dorian that he needed to rest, what with all the socializing he did that day, while Bull had just lounged.  Dorian chuckled a little as Bull’s breath and mouth touched his ear, but he turned back over in sleep regardless.

As Bull neared the nursery, however, he heard the cries fading away.  He saw a figure in the dark crouched over the crib.  For a half-second, he tensed, ready to retaliate, until his eye adjusted to the light and he noticed the hat.

“Cole.”

“Hello!” he said, softly.

Bull rubbed his eyes, his whole body feeling stiff.  “What are you doing, Cole.”

“She was hungry.”  Cole had Cordula in his arms, along with a bottle of milk for her. 

“I’m sure she was, but… let me handle that?” Bull said.

“You should sleep,” Cole said.  He was swaying, slightly, not exactly rocking but definitely soothing.  “Blood in your belly, bruised, bones bent almost to breaking.  You hide your hurt so that he won’t worry.  I can help.”

“...yeah, I’m sure you can, kid, but…”  Bull sighed.  “How about you wait until morning, and see how Dorian feels about you _helping_ his kids?”

“He won’t mind.”

“You should still ask.  People tend to get a little tense when you pick up their kids without asking,” Bull said.  “Like bears.  You know about bears, don’t you, kid?”

Cole tilted his head in confusion.  “Yes, but… Dorian is not a _bear_.”

“It’s a metaphor, kid.”

“Ah, a metaphor,” Cole said.  “They mean things, except when they don’t.  Words that know what they are, until they aren’t.”

“...yeah.  Words.  Can you put her back down, now?”

“Okay.”  Cole did so.  “You should sleep, The Iron Bull.”

“I will, kid.  Goodnight.”

In the space of a blink, Cole was gone.  Bull yawned, taking a moment to look in the crib at the calmed children, already nearing sleep again.  A little milk was still on the corner of Cordula’s mouth, and he wiped it off with his thumb.  She suckled at the air.

They were so small.  Delicate.  Precious, Dorian had said.

Bull did not fear Cole, but the spirit made him uneasy, as all spirits did.  Him being consistently benign hardly helped with that.

But if Dorian trusted the spirit with his children, Bull could as well.

\--

“Wait, if I’m to understand you correctly… you’ll go and check on them if they wake up in the middle of the night?”  Dorian was half-naked in his dressing-gown in the kitchen, interrupted in the making of his morning tea by Cole. 

(Bull told him he could ask in the morning, Cole said.  It was now morning.  Hello!)

“I can feed them before they have to cry.  Yes.”  Cole had his hands eagerly held in front of him, but he was looking at the floor.  “In silence, everyone sleeps better.”

“Well, no arguing there,” Dorian said.  “You, er, _know_ where all the milk-draught is?  That Bull made.”

“I looked and learned along with you, in the kitchens,” Cole said.  “And I... _think_ I understand how diapers work.”

“...let’s just have you stick with the milk, for now,” Dorian said.  “We’ll all work on the diapers together.”

“Yes,” Cole said.  “I do want to learn.  The Iron Bull won’t get better if he can’t sleep.”

Dorian paused.  “Is Bull… hurting, Cole?”

“His… body hurts, but he heals,” Cole said.  “He made life, and in the making unmade some of himself.  I’ve felt it before, in the infirmary, families forming from these lives, unmade.”

“...so, is he all right, or isn’t he?”

“He will heal,” Cole said.  “Making a new person is like an illness, but a happy one.”

“If you say so,” Dorian said.  “Now, if you please, I need to finish…”

One of the girls began to cry.  Cole disappeared.

Dorian sighed, pouring himself a cup of tea, at least, before he continued on to the nursery.

Cole was feeding Ursula, this time, who had calmed significantly in his arms and with the milk he’d brought.  His technique was almost textbook, the bottle tilted at just the right angle so that it wouldn’t flow too hard.  And none of this was taking into account whatever passive hurt-absorbing he was doing by simply touching her.

“I know you aren’t a bear, but please don’t attack me for holding her,” Cole said, not looking at him.  “I know I didn’t ask.”

“Of… course not, Cole,” Dorian said.  “Do… feel free to feed the girls when they’re hungry.  At night.  You have my explicit permission.”

“Thank you,” Cole said.  “This will help.”

“So you really trust him to take care of them?” Bull said, after Dorian had settled back in and told him what had happened.

“Well, I’ll have to see how he is with anything _else_ that might wake them up in the middle of the night,” Dorian replied.  “Diapers, particularly.  Should probably make sure he knows about those.”

“Seems reasonable,” Bull replied.  “You think he’ll try anything else, though?”

“Like…?”

“I don’t know.  Weird spirit crap.”

“If I were to bet on a demon trying to possess one of our children, I highly doubt it would be Cole,” Dorian said.  “And, besides, he has that… amulet that Solas gave him.  He’s not a danger.”

Bull shrugged.  “Well, hey.  If it means we get to sleep more, why not?”

“Promise me you will, though?” Dorian said.  “Sleep, I mean.”

“Of course, kadan.  I’ll sleep all damn day if you let me.”

“ _Let_ you?  I’ll bar the door to the bedroom my _self_ if that’s what it takes to get you some rest.”

“Mm.  Sounds hot,” Bull said.  “Strap me down, too, like you said this morning?”

“ _Please_.  I’m not some Orlesian torture-master.  That’d be _terribly_ uncomfortable for the both of us.”

“I dunno, I’d be up for trying,” Bull said.

“When you’re _recovered_ ,” Dorian said.  “In the meantime, I’ll think of other ways to keep you in bed.”

“Like…?” There was a teasing, hopeful upturn in Bull’s voice.

“Breakfast in bed.  And lunch.  And reading.  And maybe I’ll kiss you, if I’m feeling up to it.”

“No complaints here,” Bull said, and Dorian settled into his place beside him, looking as pleased with himself as a cat in the sun.

In the nursery, Cole held the second-born, Cordula, half-humming an old, old song that had lived on in the dreams of a friend.


	2. On Guests

Maevaris Tilani made her first appearance at Skyhold with an armful of enchanted white roses and enough charm and enthusiasm for an entire banquet.  “Dorian!  My _dear_ boy.”

Dorian had never been happier to be interrupted in his reading.  He rose from the armchair in his parlor without a moment of hesitation.  “Maevaris!  As I live and breathe.”

“Where shall I put these?  They’ll be fresh for a while, but I’d rather have my arms free.”

“Oh, uh, here, just put them on the table,” Dorian said.  “You came all the way out here for me!”

Maevaris set down the flowers, letting out a satisfied sigh.  She was dressed in a warm, sunny palette with green stitching, matching the waxing summer.  “Well, of _course_.  Once I received your letter there was no way I _wasn’t_ coming by to see your girls,” she replied.  “Speaking of, where are they?”

“Probably asleep.  Bull put them down for a nap a few hours ago, so…”

“Ah, yes, am I going to meet him too?” Maevaris said.  “Rhetorical question, I know.”

“He’d insist on meeting you even if you _hadn’t_ asked,” Dorian said.  “Let’s find him, shall we?”

Maevaris was not an easily-impressed woman.  She was delighted to find her jaw hanging open a little at the sight of Bull.

“Why, _hello_ there,” she said.  “I thought you’d be _shorter_.”

“You’d think I’d have heard that one before,” Bull said.  He smiled.  “Magister Tilani, I presume.”  
  
“Absolutely _charmed_ ,” Maevaris replied.  She held out her hand, and Bull kissed it.  “And a gentleman, too!  Dorian, I am _dying_ of jealousy.”

“Mae…” Dorian sounded maybe a bit jealous himself.  Bull glanced at him with a guilty smirk.

“Don’t worry, dear.  I prefer men that are _shorter_ than me,” Maevaris said, patting Bull’s arm.  “My late husband was a dwarf, in fact.”

“Oh, my condolences,” Bull said.

“What, about the fact that he was a dwarf, or the fact that he’s dead?”

Bull stammered slightly.

“My _goodness_ , I’m kidding!” Her smile and her laughter practically shimmered.  “Do pardon me, I just can’t help myself sometimes.  It’s _wonderful_ to finally meet you.  Dorian practically writes _poetry_ about you in his letters to me.”

  
“Now, Maevaris, if I were to write _poetry_ I would have the decency to keep to a _meter_ ,” Dorian said. 

“True.”  She laughed again, though politely, with her mouth closed.  “My, what a first impression I must be making.”

“A good one,” Bull said.  “Though Dorian _did_ give me an idea of what to expect.  ‘Like a jewel cut to the finest edges, dazzling and able to cut you if you step out of line.’”

Dorian stared at Bull, at once embarrassed and thoroughly impressed - that was almost _verbatim_.  Maevaris seemed to share at least half of the sentiment.  “Composing poetry about me _too_ , Dorian?  Whatever has gotten into you?”

“He’s like that for everyone,” Bull said.  “You should hear him when he’s _mad_ at somebody.”

“Yes, I’m told that I’m _ruthlessly_ verbose,” Dorian said, dryly, continuing on with haste.  “But never mind all that.  You’re here for the girls, yes?”

“Oh, yes!  Well, and I’ll need to say hello to Varric while I’m here, but yes.”

“Bull, are they…?”  Dorian gestured to the corridor leading to their room.

“Still asleep,” Bull said.  “In the nursery.”

“We can go take a peek, if you want,” Dorian said.  “I’m sure we can catch them awake for you to hold them later.”

“Oh, by all means,” Maevaris said.

And, just as predicted, the girls were asleep, sprawled out on their backs in the crib together.  They were a little over three months old, now, and seemed to sleep more soundly in the same crib.  The spare was shoved a bit away, halfway to abandonment, but ready for when they got bigger. 

“Oh, Dorian, they’re _beautiful,”_ Maevaris whispered, holding her hand over her heart.

“Thank you, Mae,” Dorian replied, softly and sincerely.  In the presence of his children, his miracles, he found it difficult to reach for wit. 

“How did you manage to find…!” Maevaris exhaled, shaking her head.  “I mean, you adopted them together?”

“We didn’t…”  Dorian’s voice trailed off, and he looked to Bull, almost feeling like he had to ask permission.  Bull just shrugged, untroubled, a passive approval.  “No, they’re mine.  Ours.  Um.”

“Of course they’re yours, Dorian…” Maevaris said, gently, a reassurance.

“No, no, I mean…  They’re my blood.  Physically.  I fathered them.”

“Oh.  _Oh._ Goodness, that can’t have been pleasant…”  There was a sympathetic, almost pitying smile on her face, now.

“Nah, it wasn’t so bad,” Bull said.  “Not something I’d do again anytime soon, but Dorian makes these kinds of things worth it.”

“Oh, darling, I can _imagine,_ ” Maevaris said.  “I hope, at least, the girl was on good terms with the both of you?”

“Er… what girl?” Dorian said.

“Why, their mother, of course.”

“Uh… yeah, that would technically be me,” Bull said.  “Qunari work a little differently.  We can do things like that.”

“...you know, I heard _rumors_ , but I would never have thought…”  There was pleasant shock on Maevaris’s face.  “So they really _are_ your blood!”

“Yes,” Dorian said.  His face was hot, knowing, just _knowing,_ that Bull was smiling at him.  
  
“You haven’t informed your family?”

“That’s, um… not exactly something I’ve figured out yet,” Dorian said.  He could feel sarcasm prickling at the back of his neck, too sharp to be spoken, even in defense.

“Ah.  Yes, that would involve… explanations,” Maevaris said.  She thoughtfully poised her hand on her chin.

“What, you don’t think Vints would believe that one of their own conquered a _vicious_ oxman and forced him into submission?  Which may or may not have involved bearing his children?” Bull said.  “Sounds like the sorta stuff they’d be into.”

There was another blinking silence.

“Oh, no offense to you, Magister,” Bull continued.

“None taken at all, my dear,” Maevaris said, half-laughing, “but I think you may have upset Dorian.”

Dorian, indeed, looked vaguely horrified.  
  
“I didn’t mean it seriously, kadan,” Bull said, softly.

“...why don’t we return to the parlor!  I think we should return to the parlor.”  Dorian turned and left before getting much of a response, though he _was_ followed.

The conversation for the rest of the afternoon stayed well away from the matters of logistics of reproduction, instead straying to calmer topics, like scandals and gossip.

The girls woke up, one after the other, very shortly in, and Bull rose at the sound.  “I’ll go handle that,” he said.  “You two catch up.”  His gaze lingered a little too long.  Another passive permission.

“Now, far be it for me to tell you what to do, Dorian,” Maevaris said, “but you should tell your family _something.”_  
  
“And what are my options, here?” Dorian replied.  “I can claim that I adopted them, as you assumed, in which case they have no legitimate tie to my house.  Or!  Even _better_ , I can tell the truth: that I have lain with a qunari and, against all logic, produced not one, but _two_ children.”

Maevaris’s expression was at once sympathetic, patient, and judgmental.

“You’d think I’d have considered this _before_ I went through with things, but… here, it’s so easy to _forget_ what I have to return to,” Dorian continued, quietly.  “And I know I’ll have to.”

“What have you got to lose with these options?” Maevaris said.  “Be honest with yourself.”

“What, the explanations?”  She nodded.  “Well, adoption… is more believable, but they’d have no chance at inheriting my seat in the Magisterium, I’m certain…”

“And that means a lot to you, them being able to do that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Dorian said, guilt and hurt dripping from the word.  “I want nothing _more_ than for house Pavus to grow, for my - children to be a part of that, but…”  His voice caught on the word, on the idea, and he pursed his lips.  He made a miserable little noise.  “I did write to my father about my… options, you know...”

“I know.  And your father wrote to _me,_ in response,” Maevaris replied.

Dorian blinked.  “Oh, he… did?”  
  
“I heard that using a Chantry Mother and being behind-the-back didn’t work out so well for you two, last time,” Maevaris said.  “I’m a bit nicer, as far as neutral parties go.”

“Could have written to me _directly_ , of course, but…”  Dorian sighed.  “Well, what did he have to say?” he said.  His body felt tense, curled up at nothing immediate.

“He was largely curious about whom you seemed to have gotten _involved_ with,” Maevaris said.  “Why else would you have written to him about the possibility of starting a family?”

“Fair point…” Dorian said.  “And, anything else?”

“That he’d be open to meeting the man and discussing your options from there,” Maevaris said.  “Obviously, he probably didn’t take into account the possibility of you getting started without him…”

Dorian’s face was fairly blank.

  
“Yes, he specified: the _man_ you were involved with,” Maevaris said.  “That’s a bit of step forward, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well.”  Dorian cleared his throat, forced some composure into himself.  “And what were his options?  More blood magic?”

“He didn’t specify,” Maevaris said.

“Of course.”

“You should at least take that into account,” Maevaris said.  “That he’s willing to… negotiate, I suppose.  Perhaps recognize adopted heirs as legitimate.”

“If my daughters were adopted.  Or - human.”  Dorian exhaled with some difficulty.  His throat felt tight.  “Maker, why do I even bother…”

“Well, you’re talking to someone a bit more incapable than you of having children.  Who married a dwarf.  And _still_ has a seat in the Magisterium,” Maevaris said, folding her arms.  “And I could name some ruffly little urchin as my heir, if I were inclined.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes when Dorian gave her a rather puppy-ish frown.

“There _have_ been stranger things,” she said.  “So you should probably give your father a _little_ more credit, with regards to what he can get away with.”

“I suppose…”

“Does that help you with your decision?”

“...well, you’ve more or less convinced me that it’s… probably in the best interest of both myself _and_ Bull if I just claim the girls are adopted,” Dorian said.  He laughed, once, bitterly.  “I could even claim it to be some sort of peacekeeping gesture.”

“Or you could… talk to your father, first?” Maevaris said.  “See what he thinks would work best?”

“...typically, what my father thinks is _best_ for me isn’t…”  Dorian sighed, again.  “I’ll write him again.  I’ll give him that much.”

“As you wish,” Maevaris said, simply, nodding to make her point.  “I’m just a messenger, after all.”

“Why _is_ it that nobody in Tevinter sends messages _directly_ anymore?  It’s downright Orlesian,” Dorian said, crossing his arms, looking away.

“I imagine the Orlesians say much of the same thing about Tevinter,” Maevaris replied.

“Hey, you two done talking?”  Bull entered with one of the twins on his shoulder - she was in a green frock so, probably, Cordula.  “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He’d probably been listening.  Some things Bull just couldn’t help, and Dorian knew it.  “We were just finishing up.  Now, what do you have there?”  
  
“Cora’s having a bit of a tough time going back down,” Bull said.  “She likes you more than me, so, wanna give it a go?”

“I keep _telling_ you, that is patently untrue,” Dorian said, taking the child in his arms.  She was making light fussing noises, and he held her against his shoulder.  “Oh, there there, there’s my little heart, what’s wrong?”

Maevaris looked at Bull, who looked on with heavy happiness in his eyes.  He was not so much breathing as sighing.  It was almost obscenely touching.

“I’m sorry, Mae, I won’t be long,” Dorian said, leaving the room and heading, presumably, for the nursery.  He was humming, murmuring a little as he went.

“I imagine you heard some of that?” Maevaris said, once Dorian was far enough away.

“Yeah, enough,” Bull said.  “For the record, I was only half-kidding about that story with him conquering me into submission.  I think it’d help his image for when he goes back home.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“The image-thing or…?”

“Him returning to Tevinter.”

Bull sighed.  “This is _Dorian_ we’re talking about.  There’s no way he won’t.  And I’m fine with that, I won’t keep him,” he said.  “If anyone can start fixing that shithole, it’s him.”  He paused.  “No offense to you, again, Magister.”  
  
“None taken at all,” Maevaris said.  “I absolutely agree.  Still,” she continued, “what about your daughters?”

“They’re his kids, in the end,” Bull said.  “When he has to go back, or when he can’t stop staying out of things, I’ll step out of the way.  I mean, I won’t _leave_ him,” he continued, quickly and loudly, “but I can’t be in the way.”

“What would you have him do?  When it comes to telling his family about you all.”  
  
“What, all that stuff?  He can do whatever he wants,” Bull said.  “That’s his business.  I’m just here to make him happy.”

“You, my dear, are far too good for him,” Maevaris concluded.  
  
“I’m as good as he needs me to be,” Bull replied.


	3. On Messages

Dorian, after a great deal of time huffing and self-loathing and distracting himself in annoyingly familiar ways, wrote a letter to his father.

_Pater,_

_I am well, first off.  The Inquisition continues to be a gracious host to this poor guest, and I, of course, continue representing the best that Tevinter has to offer to them._

_Secondly, which you may have already heard: I’ve recently become a father to two qunari infants.  I’m raising them as a show of peace and goodwill towards our friends to the north, and they’re dreadfully adorable besides._

_Assisting me in this endeavor is my companion, a Tal-Vashoth who goes by the name of the Iron Bull.  Worry not about him, as he is about as interested in the growth of the Qun as he would be by the growth of a wart.  He is a man of incredible integrity and honor, and I consider myself immensely fortunate to know him and to have him by my side._

_I’ve named the girls Ursula Felicia Pavus and Cordula Cornelia Pavus.  I intend for one of them to inherit our house’s seat in the Magisterium, depending on how their education proceeds.  While this is hardly traditional, I feel that it is within my right to at least discuss the possibility with you and, perhaps, the Magisterium proper._

_When the girls are older I should like for you to meet them all.  Maevaris had the pleasure of their company during her visit, and I’m certain she would be glad to elaborate on it all to you._

_And, if we are to meet again any time soon, please do contact me directly.  Maevaris came an awfully long way to see me on your behalf, and I’d hate to put her through the trouble again._

_Vitae benefaria._

_Your son,_

_Dorian_

He read and re-read it and re-wrote it a few too many times for his liking, and by the time he sent it, he didn’t want to look at it anymore.  He felt it was clear enough.  Open to negotiation, but making it known, without a doubt, that these people were in his life and not going anywhere.

Of course, he didn’t let Bull see a word of it.  Heaven forbid he ever catch a glimpse of Dorian _speaking highly_ ofhim, and to a Tevinter at that.  And not just _any_ Tevinter, but his own _father_ , the big important Magister.  Bull would never let him hear the end of it.

The night after he sent the letter off, he went into the twins’ nursery, and he held them, one at a time, full of regret and remembering.

“Oh, my dear imekari,” he said, to himself, to them, so quietly.  “I’m so sorry.”

He only wanted the best for them.  The world they lived in was one where lies were safer than truths.  He knew that, and he hated himself for it.  Practically his entire life, he’d been hiding, and here he was, hiding again behind half-facts.  For their own safety, he told himself, to keep the story flexible.  For their benefit.

Perhaps he’d be able to openly recognize them as his blood, when someone finally, undoubtedly, confronted him over it.  As the children he had made with the man he loved.  Or perhaps he’d be a sniveling coward and hide behind the adoption story.  
  
Here, with careful words, with the advantage of distance, he could hold off the decision.  If he eventually had to cage them, cage Bull, with lies, he would prefer to do it later.  Then he could say he had no choice.

He wouldn’t hate himself any less, however.

\--

Halward’s reply came a month later.

_Dorian,_

_I would very much like to meet your wards.  While they may not be my blood, they are your children, in some definition, and worth the support of house Pavus in their upbringing._

_Similarly, I would be amenable to meeting your companion the Tal-Vashoth.  If he had the sense to leave the Qun then he’s of character enough to be a guest of my house._

_The villa near the Nevarran border is always available for your use.  Send the word, and I’ll inform you when I can visit and meet with you and any related parties._

_In the meantime, may your endeavors for Tevinter and for the Inquisition be fruitful ones._

_Viderae lucis._

_Your Father_

Dorian waited until the girls were asleep for the night to properly explode.

“Do you know what that bit at the end means?  Do you have any idea?” he said, pacing in the kitchen.  “ _Viderae lucis._   See the light!  Andraste’s holy arse, can you believe that?”

“That’s a… metaphor, I take it,” Bull said.

“It’s a send-off.  A wonderfully patronizing send-off,” Dorian said.  “ _See the light._ Translation: see reason, dear boy, won’t you?”

“As opposed to?”

“Whatever I’m doing now, apparently!”  Dorian sighed, deeply and sharply.

“Mind if I play the other side of the table, here?” Bull said.

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe he’s hoping you’ll see this as him trying to… bridge a gap,” Bull said, gesturing vaguely with his hands.  “I mean, he _did_ say he wanted to meet me and the girls.”

“Yes.  My ‘wards’ and my ‘Tal-Vashoth companion.’  Could he possibly _sound_ less interested?” Dorian said.  “And ‘while they may not be my blood…’  Honestly!”

“Well, did you _tell_ him that?  That the girls aren’t yours?”

“Well… no,” Dorian said, a sour spine of embarrassment on his tongue, “but the fact that he assumed!”

“He knows you aren’t interested in women, Dorian.  What else is he going to assume?”

Dorian scowled, breathing through his nose.  
  
“Really, what did you tell him?” Bull said.

“I… didn’t elaborate.  I felt it wasn’t necessary,” Dorian said.  “Told him I’d become a father but didn’t say how.  How is this relevant?”  
  
“Because you’re looking over what he _said_.  He recognized them as your children, Dorian.”  
  
“Yes.  ‘In some definition.’  And he called them my ‘wards’ first.”

“Don’t focus on the words.  Focus on the offer.”

“Bull.  _Please_ do not tell me what to do here.”

“I understand.  I’ll stop.”  Bull’s face was steady, calm, impartial.  It was infuriating.

“Look, I understand, I get it,” Dorian continued.  “I know full well how important it is that I play nice so I don’t get myself _disowned_ again, but is it so much to ask that my house recognizes my _family_ as more than just - just _things?_ ”

“Your father didn’t refer to me or the girls as ‘things,’ Dorian.”

“He could have used your _names!_   But what do I get?  My ‘wards’ and my ‘Tal-Vashoth companion’!”  Dorian was pacing again, making short, agitated exhales.  
  
“Still an acknowledgment,” Bull said.

“Fasta _vass_ , Bull!  Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not,” Bull said, and he said no more.

Dorian caught his breath, his temper, running a hand through his hair.  “Yes.  Yes, it is an acknowledgment,” he said.  “But an acknowledgment is not… it’s not an _approval_.”

“Is approval something you need, kadan?”  Bull’s voice was disarmingly gentle, a soft weapon.

An entire conversation played behind Dorian’s features for a few seconds, all raised and lowered eyes.  “It’s what I want.”  He laughed at himself.  “Rather as reasonable as saying I want to have only the _finest_ red wines with my meals.  It’s not…”

“Not something you need.”

Dorian sighed, a show of agreement.

“Here’s another metaphor for you,” Bull continued.  “When you win a war, typically you shouldn’t worry about the other side approving of you.  You worry about keeping things smooth, keeping what you’ve gained.”

“So I’ve won this particular war, I take it?” Dorian said.  “I hardly feel victorious.”

“Matter of perspective,” Bull said.

Dorian shook his head.  “If you insist.”  He leaned against the table, there, holding his forehead.  “Maker’s _breath,_ what a mess.”

“You’re all right, kadan.  We got a while to work this out,” Bull said.  “That’s the nice thing about peace treaties.  You get to negotiate.”

“ _Must_ you continue on with that dreadful metaphor?” Dorian said.  “You make it sound as if Tevinter declared war on us.”

“To be honest, that would probably be easier to deal with,” Bull said.  “You get to hit stuff in a real war.”

“I’ll keep to what we  have now, thank you very much,” Dorian said.  He sighed, again, smiling a little.  “Well, at any rate, I have sent a letter out, and received a letter back, and I shall not have to do so again any time soon, if I can help it.”

“Sounds good, big guy.”

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Dorian said, leaning back and stretching, tense muscles aching and creaking, “I _really_ could use a distraction from all of this right now.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Bull said.  “Thought you would never stop.”

“Stuff and nonsense.”

Bull just smiled.  “You’re pretty predictable when you get like this, kadan.  All I gotta do is sit there and take it until you’re finished.”

Dorian chuckled, his face flushing.  “I should hope that’s not a proposal!”

“Why?”  Bull approached him, enormous and warm.  “You more in the mood for me to take _you?_ ”

Dorian leaned into Bull’s body, putting a hand on his chest.  “Just give me what I _need_ , already.  You’re good at that.”

“You’re damn right,” Bull said, before taking Dorian, smiling and satisfied, into his arms and into their bed.


	4. On Names

“Ba!”  The way Ursula said it, it was like she was proud of herself.  “Ba, ba.”

“Yes, is that so?”  Dorian said.  He was peeling a peach while Ursula busied herself with the crumbs of a biscuit. 

“Ba, mmmba, ba.”

“What a _fascinating_ point!” Dorian said.  “I never saw it that way.”

Ursula burbled, and Dorian chuckled.

“What do you think she’s really trying to say?” Dorian said, handing his daughter a slimy slice of peach.  “Incredibly enlightening stuff, I’m sure.”

“Eh, probably Papa,” Bull said, in another chair by the table.  He was holding Cordula - though she was just called Cora, at that point, a nickname that had started with Dorian and spread.  She’d already finished with her meal and was absently chewing on one of her hands.

“ _Papa_?  Really?” Dorian said.

“That so hard to believe?”

“Just a bit, since I haven’t… really said anything to _encourage_ it,” Dorian said.  “No ‘come to papa!’ or anything.”

“You want her to call you something different?”  Bull laughed at himself.  “Honored Father or something Vinty like that?”

“I have never heard _anyone_ from Tevinter use that term,” Dorian said, a sarcastic little edge to his voice.  “ _Pater_ , maybe, but... Come to think of it, yes, Papa does have a nice ring to it.”

“Papa Pavus.”  Bull laughed again, and took both of Cora’s hands with his thumbs and forefingers, lifting her to her feet on his lap.  “Glad you didn’t go with Daddy.  That would be a little weird.”

Dorian cleared his throat pointedly, before smirking and feeding Ursula another slice of peach.  “Perish the thought,” he said.  “What do you want them to call _you?_ ”

“What, the girls?”  A nod.  “Oh, anything works.  It doesn’t matter,” Bull said.

“Doesn’t matter?” Dorian said.  “You’re their father, too.”

“Hey, now.  That’s your thing,” Bull said.  “I’m just the guy that helped make them.”

“Just the…”  Dorian put down the knife, looking at Bull with a crinkled, concerned expression.  “Bull, really?”

“What?” Bull said.  “That’s the truth.  You fathered them.  I just did the…”  He narrowed his eye as he thought.  “Okay, I’ll draw the line at them calling me ‘Mama.’  Krem wouldn’t let me live it down.”

Dorian wasn’t smiling, instead looking at Bull with an almost weary expression.  “Amatus,” he said, quietly, “if I’ve… somehow been giving you the impression that you have no claim to the girls…”  He trailed off, his voice edging into distress.

“I’m not claiming anything, kadan,” Bull said.  “They’re Pavuses.”

“But that’s what I’m _talking_ about!” Dorian said.  “Maker, I should have noticed… I’ve spent so much time worrying about my side of the family that I’ve given no time to _yours_.”

Bull lowered Cora to his lap, keeping his gentle hold on her hands.  “I’ve got nothing to give, Dorian,” he said.  “Is it really that easy to forget that I’m _qunari?_   I mean, you’d think with the horns…”

Bull attempted to laugh a little, to put lightness in his words, but Dorian still looked upset. 

“Yes,” Dorian said.  “You _are_ qunari.  And so are our daughters.  And I don’t… want to deny that, ever.”

“Well… okay,” Bull said, “though I think when they get older, it’ll be a little difficult to deny.  Cora, especially.”

(Cora already had two red, irritated patches of skin above her horn-buds, which Bull soothed with a balm he borrowed from Stitches.  The sparse tufts of her hair between were an oily black.)

“I meant _you_.  The things you could _teach_ them.  About you, about them,” Dorian said. 

“...really, Dorian, I don’t have anything to offer on that end,” Bull said.  “I’m Tal-Vashoth.  I’ve left practically everything qunari about me behind.”

“You left behind the _Qun_ ,” Dorian said.  “That _can’t_ be all there is…”

Bull sighed.  “I can teach them Qunlat, and if they want to learn how to hit things with other things when they’re older, I can do that too.  I really have nothing else to give.”

Ursula was making distressed, whining noises as she tried to take the peach from Dorian’s still hands.  Dorian absently began cutting out another piece for her.

“Bull, you’re their _father_ ,” Dorian said, softly, keeping his eyes on his hands.  “You’re as much their father as _I_ am.”

“If you say so, kadan,” Bull said.

“I am not just _saying_ so, Bull, it’s a fact!” Dorian said.  He put down the knife again.  “This isn’t some - title or position, this is…  Neither of our daughters would be here _without_ you.  I don’t see how else to _put_ this.”

Ursula began fussing again, and Dorian took to feeding her the next slice of peach, silently.

Bull bounced Cora a little, in his lap, thinking.  “There’s no such thing as a ‘father’ under the Qun,” he finally said.  “Not even a word for it.  You calling me their father… I know what the _word_ means, but it’s like… someone just came up to me and told me I was a fishmonger.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose.  “...a _fishmonger_.”

“Yeah.  See, I know what that word means, but I don’t know anything about the job.  So, even if I really _were_ a fishmonger, I still wouldn’t know how to _be_ one, or what it means to be one,” Bull said.  “Never really met one before.”

Dorian sighed, his eyes still quite narrowed, and began with another peach slice.  “Who raises children, under the Qun?”

“Huh?  Oh, the tamassrans.”

“Fine.  Then, you’re a tamassran.”

Bull almost snorted, laughing.  “What?”

“That’s something you understand, yes?  Who they are, what they’re about,” Dorian said.

“Well, _yeah,_ but they aren’t mothers, or fathers,” Bull said.  “I mean, they look after the kids, sure, but they’re more teachers than anything.”

“But that’s your closest point of reference, surely?” Dorian said.

“I guess.”

“So, for now, you are their tamassran,” Dorian said.  “Until you get used to the idea of being their father.  Which is the truth.  And I shall not let you deny it.”

Bull sighed, though laughing a little, again.  “Y’know, that’s a lot more accurate than you probably think,” he said.  “Tamassrans end up having a lot of the kids in the first place.  Never raising the ones they had, of course, since that causes all kinds of problems.”

“There, see?  Already, a point of divergence.”  Dorian sliced the last bit of peach off the pit, and put it in Ursula’s sticky hands.  “You get to help raise the ones you’ve made.  Problems included.”

“You know what else Tamas do?”

“What?”

“Help people work out their sexual frustration,” Bull said, smirking.

“Amatus!”

“With _sex_.”

“Bull, _please_ , there are children present,” Dorian said, though he was laughing.

Bull smiled, and he lifted Cora and repositioned her in his lap, so that they were face to face.  Her eyes had settled into an uncertain, pond-water green.  There were no expectations in her face.

“You gonna call me Tama, little one?” he said.

She looked up, said nothing.

“Tama and Papa.  Yes, that’s got a nice ring to it,” Dorian said, regaining some semblance of composure.  “Yes, Ursula.  Papa, that’s me.  Say ‘Papa.’”

“M’ba!” Ursula said.

Cora just looked up and on, and into the eye of the person whom she didn’t have a name for, but loved all the same.


	5. On Learning

Cora was the first to get her magic.  She was three years old, at the time, and it came upon her so suddenly and so quietly that Dorian wondered if perhaps he was just wishfully thinking the signs were there.

The Veil thinned around her.  He could feel it, a faint static on his skin when he held her, making his fingers slightly numb, like when he held a battle-warmed staff.  No flash and fire, no biting sheets of cold.  Just the gentle, humming sensation of the Fade saying, yes, she was tied to it, and it to her.

Ursula was the one that got all the sparks and conflagration, maybe a few months after Dorian began to notice the change in Cora.  Whilst throwing a tantrum over her bedtime, she stamped her feet and sent arcing little fingers of electricity over the ground.  They didn’t set anything on fire - that time - but it was enough to be noticed.

Bull was more than happy to get out of the way, if not a little startled.  “Is it - normal for them to get the magic going that early?” he asked Dorian.

“No, not for most,” Dorian said, “but then again, my magic came in when I was five or so.”

“That a Tevinter thing?”

“Actually, yes,” Dorian said.  “At least, in theory.  Mages tend to produce mages, and talented mages tend to produce talented mages.  Hence, Tevinter’s favorite pastime!  Breeding their heirs like thoroughbreds.  After the gladiatorum.  Equally ruthless, if you ask me.”

“So, they got that from you, then,” Bull said.

“Well, I imagine so,” Dorian said.  “You haven’t got a magical bone in your body.”

Bull chuckled.  “Well, that’s partly true.”

Dorian looked genuinely confused.  “How do you mean?”

“I’m _pretty sure_ that I have taken a certain magical bone into my body on at least _one_ occasion.”

It took a moment to hit him, and Dorian turned bright red once it did.  “ _Amatus!_ ”

Dorian quite happily took up the beginnings of the magical education for the girls, following.  There were no Circles, no templars, and Skyhold _did_ have a remarkably well-staffed mage tower for backup.  That, however, would all be for later.  The girls were young, small, and their bodies were ineffective conduits for magic.  Also, they were three years old, and not particularly suited for study just yet.

Their first staffs gave the raw energy moving around and through them a place to form and settle.  They were tiny, crude, beautiful things, little more than sticks with crystals at their tops.  Dorian made them himself.  “When they’re older,” he explained. “they’ll be able to handle larger staves, channel larger amounts of magic.  This is to get them used to the feeling.”

“Sure, I’ll take your word for it,” Bull replied.

He kept out of the way, as Dorian worked with them, but he observed very carefully.  Magic had come to the girls, and also personality, identity.  Things he could work with.  They were no longer infants, those amorphous creatures of need.  They were beginning to gain shape.

Well, he was to act as their tamassran, wasn’t he?  He could work with that.

An even, balanced dichotomy was beginning to form between the twins, present even in the magic that formed and flowed through them.  Cora was observation, quiet, calm and cool.  Ursula was energy, enthusiasm, flash and flourish.

Damn, Vivienne was _good_ if she had seen that in them from the outset.  Her prescription for their wardrobes had been warm, fire-colors for Ursula, and watery blues and greens for Cora, and Dorian had all-too-eagerly followed it.  The girls grew so quickly that they needed new clothes practically every season, and Vivienne was always more than willing to take a holiday from her duties as Grand Enchanter and oversee the new selection.

(Though she’d backed off on the suggestion of black in Ursula’s wardrobe, citing that her skin tone had evened out some so as not to need it.  But the fact remained.)

The similarities between them were rooted in a deep and familiar love of learning, of knowing.  They had a ritual of sorts in which they insisted upon Dorian reading them something every night before bedtime, which Dorian was more than happy to allow.  Every night, after they’d had their bath and been dressed in their nightgowns, they took up their places under their tama’s right arm, their papa under his left, and they listened.  It was not always stories; sometimes, they were travelogues, or manuals on magic, where Dorian would pick a chapter and read and answer their questions.

(Those were easier to finish, as well, since non-fiction chapters didn’t usually have cliffhangers, and cliffhangers meant “Just one more page, Papa!”)

The girls loved to learn, and their fathers were eager to teach.

From Dorian, they learned Tevene, the words of smoke and ceremony that would be needed in some vague, far-off Someday.  They learned to find joy in their magic, and certainty, knowing that they had no need to fear what they knew and understood. 

From Bull, they learned Qunlat, hard, warm, useful words from somewhere far-away and vague.  They learned of things in the world that could be used for them or against them, and that if they understood and knew them, they had nothing to fear from the world.

(Though they were taught other things from Bull, small and subtle guidances to follow and support them.)

(In Ursula, he let her run, explore, play-spar, all preludes to when she would ask for a real weapon.)

(For Cora, he pushed her eyes, her mind.  Asking in their time together to tell him what she saw, if she saw, why she saw.  She was reading the world long before she could read words.)

(He felt, knew what they had, what they were becoming, and it was his job to ensure that they became.)

(But he would never tell them what they were.  He was a tamassran, for them, but this was not the Qun.  They would tell _him_ what they were, in time.  They were already telling him.)

There were other teachers, of course.  Guardians, protectors, and friends.

For Ursula, this was mostly Sera.  Sera had sort of positioned herself as a fairy-guard-whatever for the girls from the start, which wasn’t debated - sure, she wasn’t the type of person you’d usually leave kids with, but she would absolutely look out for their well-being if pressed.  But as the girls grew up, she noticed a spark of some kind in Ursula, something shared and shiny, and made it her personal mission to keep that spark going.  It would be small things like cookies smuggled into her bedroom after dinner, for now.  But Sera had plans, for the future.  Marvelous plans.

There was also Vivienne, but that was more on ceremony than anything, and her affection was not aimed at anyone in particular.  Vivienne doted on the girls, whenever she visited Skyhold, but her visits were rare and treasured things in general.  When she was present, she cultivated and pruned Ursula’s theatrical tendencies like a rose in a garden, nipping and nurturing.  Cora received her care in gentler lectures, and private salons for two, where Vivienne taught her the language of clothes and color, and how to tell gemstones from glass.

When she wasn’t with her twin, Cora was, in general, a solitary child, more inclined to play by herself than seek out any of the other children at Skyhold.  She was often found sitting in odd corners of the hold and its garden, playing pretend, making up stories and conversations with imaginary friends.  At least, that was how it seemed.

In truth, Cole looked after her, more than anything.  Perhaps it was her thoughtful nature, or perhaps she had simply come into the world that way, but something in Cora brushed against the Veil, and the attention of spirits followed.  Cole ensured that their intentions never went beyond the benign, in dreams and in daydreams.  And when her mind matured, he let them softly speak, and she listened.

(Some part of him felt in her fleeting facets of a fallen friend, in how she walked the Fade with joy and wonder.  He passed between the Veil and back to keep her safe in slumber, all the while searching on for reassurance.)

She was not the only one he served as guardian for.  There were other people in Skyhold with other dreams, yes, and he calmed them and led their thoughts away from unfeasible nightmares.  Hurt was hurt, no matter who or where.  But he followed very few of them into the dreams themselves.

The girls, of course, were not the only ones learning new things.  Bull and Dorian frequently found themselves learning from their daughters, and the things they brought into their lives.

Ursula liked to ask questions.  Lots of questions. This brought about more than a few thoughtful conversations, and a handful of ones that were skipped and skimmed-over by Dorian before Bull answered them - when approached, since she would not be satisfied - with dubiously appropriate candor.

“What?” he said, shrugging, in the aftermath of one such discussion.  “The girls have a right to know how they got here.”

“Not in that much detail!” Dorian replied.

“Yeah, but, Tama, _Tama_ , you didn’t _tell_ me,” Ursula continued, raising her hand urgently.  “Can _all_ men have babies?”

“It depends on the man, little bear,” Bull replied.  “But you won’t have to concern yourself with that until you’re older.”

“ _Much_ older,” Dorian added, crossing his arms.

Cora’s questions tended to be softer and far more topical.  Things like why spirit-magic was green and not any other color, or why some parts of the sky were blue and others weren’t, and why there was a scar in the sky in the first place.  She was also very concerned about how to make words mean different things, and why the king’s tongue couldn’t do that as easily as Qunlat.

Dorian fielded the former as best he could.  Bull, naturally, handled the latter. 

Of course, Bull _handling_ the question didn’t mean that Dorian wasn’t _involved_.  He listened on whenever Bull got started on one of his little lessons, usually filled with a few too many puns, however educational. 

Well, _yes_ , they were an example of how a word could mean a different thing in a different context, but did he _really_ have to illustrate his point with ten different bear puns?

Regardless, Dorian listened.

And, one night, Bull received a very odd proposal.

“ _Your friends I want to visit me under._ ”

Bull’s entire face pinched inward, his mind running in place for a moment.  “What?”

Dorian sighed.  “ _Your friends_ ,” he repeated, patiently, in Qunlat, _“I want to visit me under._ ”

“What are you asking about my friends…?”  A smile began to grow on Bull’s face, now that he recognized what he was hearing.

“ _Under.  Visit me under._ ”  Dorian frowned mightily, and he sighed again.  “Am I getting it wrong?”

“Yes, kadan,” Bull said.  His shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“What was I saying, then, that’s obviously so funny?” Dorian said.

“You were asking my friends to visit you under somewhere,” Bull said.  “What, you want to go out for drinks with the boys sometime?”

“No, that was - was that _really_ what I was saying?” Dorian said.  He sounded endearingly embarrassed and outraged.  Bull fought harder against his laughter.

“What I heard, anyways,” Bull said.  He wiped at his good eye.  “What were you _trying_ to say, kadan?  I’ll help you.”

“No, no, I shall _not_ have you correct me until I get it _right_ ,” Dorian said.  “I’ll try again.”  He cleared his throat.  “ _Your intimate friends are to visit that which is under._ ”

“Better,” Bull said.  “Your pronunciation is a little stiff, though.”

“... _please_ tell me that was a pun,” Dorian said.  He sounded - of all things - a little desperate.

“ _What_ was a pun?”

Dorian made a sad little anguished groan.  “ _Your intimate friends.  Intimate.  Friends,_ ” he repeated, with clear emphasis.  “ _To visit.  That which is under.  Comprehension?_ ”

Bull was _giggling_.  “Kadan, I have no idea what you’re asking me.  Only that you’re… _trying_ to ask a question?  I think?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Dorian cried.  “I want you to _fuck_ me, Bull, yes?  Do you understand _that?_ ”

“Oh.  Ohh!”  Bull’s smile widened as the correct words settled into his mind.  “Well, you could have just said that to begin with!”

“Really?  What an idea!  The thought had not occurred to me at all!”  Dorian crossed his arms and looked up and away.  Bull was quite certain that he was pouting.

“It’s all _right_ , Dorian.  Qunlat is a bitch to learn.”

“The _girls_ seem to have no trouble…”

“The _girls_ are very young and have the advantage of not speaking _anything_ very well yet,” Bull replied.  “Is that where you picked that up?  From the girls?”

“Independent study, thank you very much,” Dorian replied, his arms still crossed.

“Probably not the best source for learning pillow talk, kadan.”

Dorian sighed, short and sharp.  “There was only one book on it in the library.”

“I could teach you.”

“You… focus on the girls.  They need to learn this more than me.”

Bull was beginning to crawl carefully forward on the bed.  “No reason why you can’t, too.”

“No, really, don’t bother, I’ll just continue to butcher it.”

Bull held himself inches from Dorian’s neck, and he let out a low, hot whisper of Qunlat.

He knew that Dorian wouldn’t have been able to resist, and he didn’t.  “What was… that you just said?” he said.

“I told you that I want to fuck you until we are both as limp as fish.”

Desire and disgust and amusement mingled pleasantly on Dorian’s smile.  “Say that again?  Without the fish, this time.”

Bull told him.  He leaned closer.

Dorian repeated after him, without error.  _“I want to make you complete_.”


	6. On Gifts

For the girls’ first birthday, they received clothes, mostly.  They were walking and even running a little, by then, and were large enough to pass for human children of maybe two or three years.  Clothes were the most sensible and obvious option.

The exceptions came from Sera and Blackwall - jointly, in fact.  At Sera’s suggestion, Blackwall had crafted them two hobby-horses - or, rather, hobby-dragons.  It was a shockingly tame gift, considering Sera, and a very predictable one, for Blackwall.  The girls adored them, besides, running through the grounds with the sticks dragging in the dirt behind them.

The following birthdays in the following years went similarly, though the gifts they received became more personal as their personalities emerged.  Bright, dazzling baubles for Ursula, toy weapons and other things to play and run around with her were her favorites.  Sera spontaneously gifted her with knitting needles, one day - “Oh, calm down, you, they’re not even _sharp_ ,” she assured Dorian - though Ursula’s hands weren’t yet nimble enough to handle the thick, wooden tools.

Cora received stuffed toys - _lots_ of them, many handmade by her Uncle Krem.  When she was older, Dorian was convinced that she would ask for books, and receive them even if she _didn’t_ ask. 

When the girls were almost five, they began gifting back.  Of course, they were prone to little gifts, already, handfuls of flowers and pretty rocks and anything else that could act as a token of affection.  This was a Real Gift.  For Papa’s birthday.  And Tama was going to help them with it.

Cora’s mind was wrapped in the present, in the things she had given and could already give.  She liked flowers, and her Papa liked flowers.  She knew, with magic, that flowers could be kept fresh and pretty, and she wasn’t much good at making things, but they were nice.  Her Tama directed her to the metal-smoke-smell Undercroft and his good friend, Dagna, who was more than happy to listen to Cora’s ideas.

“I’m thinking… trailing vine of blossoms up the staff, but made of veridium and… dawnstone.  But you can _only_ notice if you look _closely_ that they’re not real,” Dagna concluded.

“...will it look pretty?” Cora said.

“When I’m done with it, it’ll look _amazing_ ,” Dagna replied.  The Undercroft was stuffy and hot and it smelled bad, but Dagna’s smile made Cora feel much better.

Ursula, meanwhile, knew exactly what her Papa needed.  “We need a puppy,” she declared.

“ _We_ need a puppy?  Or Papa does?” Bull said, chuckling.

“...Papa is also ‘we,’” Ursula said, firmly.  “We are getting a puppy.”

“I think I get your point,” Bull said.

(A curious phenomenon: while Dorian outwardly fussed the most about if he was being firm enough or too firm or if he was smothering his girls and their identities by telling them “No,” Bull was truly the biggest pushover of the two.  If either of the girls asked something of him, and it was within his means, there was absolutely no _way_ he could say “No.”)

(If Ursula wanted a puppy, and Dorian was to be her excuse, so be it.)

So on Dorian’s birthday, after Bull spoiled him aggressively with breakfast in bed and suggestive, whispered hints for later that night, he was given two gifts from his daughters.

Cora’s gift was a new staff, courtesy of Dagna.  It had very convincing orchid blossoms apparently growing out of it, capped with a green chunk of unhewn crystal for a charming, rustic effect.  “Oh, _Cora_ ,” Dorian said, “wherever did you find this?”

“I wanted to make something pretty and Miss Dagna made this for me instead…” she said, staring at her feet.  “I wanted to use real flowers, but those would die, so…”

“It’s _beautiful_ , darling,” Dorian said.  “I’ll use it _every_ day.”

Dorian’s manner hardened a little when presented with a large, slightly-trembling box by Bull, with Ursula wearing a suspiciously Sera-like smirk beside him.

“Bull, what is _this_ ,” Dorian said.

“Ursula’s present,” Bull said.

Dorian looked very, very skeptical as he lifted the lid.  A mabari pup sprang out and immediately went for his face, licking his mustache into ruin.

“ _Really_.”  Dorian held the wriggling little thing well away from him, trying not to look… _disapproving_.

“I was assured by many fine sources that she is the descendant of many strong and noble lines of war-dogs.  The companions of kings,” Bull said.  He sounded like he was enjoying himself a _bit_ too much.

“It’s a mabari,” Dorian said.

“It’s a _puppy_ , Papa!” Ursula said.  “For us!”

Dorian appraised the thing with half-closed eyes.  “Yes, so it is,” he said.

“What are you gonna name her?” Ursula said.  “Can I name her?”

Dorian sent Bull, his amatus, the great and terrible sap, a very withering glance.  Bull smiled back with nothing but enjoyment on his face. 

“What did you want to name her, Ursula?” Dorian said, sighing, comfortable with his defeat.

“Sera!” Ursula said.

“Absolutely not,” Dorian said.  “I think that _one_ Sera is _more_ than enough.”

“But I _like_ Sera…”

“I know you do, Ursa, but do you really want to go calling ‘Sera, come here!’ and have both of them come running?” Dorian said.  “It would be most confusing.”

“I guess…”

“I kind of like Bunny?” Cora said. 

“A dog named _Bunny?_ ” Ursula said.

“Well, her tail looks kind of like a bunny’s…” Which was true, though in a roundabout way.  There was nothing else terribly bunny-ish about the dog at all.

“Fair play to you,” Dorian said, a humoring smile on his face.

“Papa, that’s a _good_ name,” Ursula said, sounding oddly argumentative.  “I wanna name her Bunny.”

“It seems you’re outmatched, kadan,” Bull said.

“Fine!  We shall name the thing Bunny.”  Dorian held the newly-dubbed rabbit-dog a little closer, narrowing his eyes.  “And you had best be grateful that I have not forced my hand and named you _Kaffamanda_.”

“What’s _that_ mean?” Ursula said.

“Something bad, probably…” Cora, correctly, guessed.

“They’re onto us, Dorian,” Bull said, with an air of conspiracy.

“Curses, we’re exposed!  Quick, we need to distract them!”  Dorian pulled the puppy closer to his face, where she proceeded to lick his mustache again.  “Oh, no!  Their vicious war-hound is attacking me!”

“Betrayed by his own daughters!” Bull said.  “How _could_ you, girls?”

“She’s just kissin’ him, Tama,” Ursula said, through her giggles.

Cora laughed without words, the warm glow of an accepted suggestion nesting in her heart.

Bunny slept in the girls’ room, that first night, while Bull tended to Dorian most exquisitely in the name of “giving him a birthday present.”  And oh, he gave and _gave_.

Still, in the gasping aftermath of the gift, when they both laid down and tried to sleep, Dorian had to ask.  “A puppy, amatus?  Really?”

“Aw, come on, kadan,” Bull said.  “She’s cute.”

“The girls’ birthday really isn’t that far off…”

“You think I don’t know that?  I’m _hurt_ , Dorian.”

“You know what I mean,” Dorian said.  “You could have waited and had Ursula get me something else.”

“Could have.  But she _insisted_ that it was for you.”

This ended up being wonderful ammunition whenever Bunny misbehaved, as she got bigger.  Any little slight, from digging holes in the yard to chewing on Dorian’s shoes, was met with “Your dog, Dorian.  _You_ do something about it.”

Though, as with all things in Dorian’s family, this went both ways.  Bunny developed quite a fondness for licking Bull’s head and chewing on his horns when she got into their bed, settled comfortably on the pillows above them.  “Dorian, make her stop,” was almost always met with a half-hearted, “Bunny?  Stop.”  She only ever stopped when Dorian clearly meant it.

To Dorian’s absolute delight, the dog trained well, and instances of the latter far outweighed the former, as time went on.  And she was a remarkably warm, welcome foot-rest, besides, always there for him when he took up his place in his favorite armchair to read.

Of course, Dorian was _determined_ to see Bull repaid in some manner for this generous slight.  And for _that_ to be just and fair, Bull would need to be _dazzled_.  Dorian was _quite_ insistent that Bull be dazzled.

So, for the purpose, he ended up doing a bit too much research, and exhausting a rare favor that Cassandra owed him, and getting Dagna into what she described as “a tizzy.”

On the morning of Bull’s birthday, he woke without expectations, let Dorian cook breakfast, and ate in the kitchen with his family like usual.  But then he noticed Ursula stifling a grin, and Cora fidgeting, and Dorian keeping his teacup pressed a little too long to his mouth.

“All right, what is it?” Bull said, heavily, but with good intent.  “If you’re going to pour a bucket of eels on my head for my birthday, I’d prefer you do it _now_.”

“We aren’t going to do that, Tama...!” Cora protested, softly.

“All right, then, what is it?”

“You honestly haven’t noticed?” Dorian said.

“Noticed… what?”

“Amatus!  Have you lost your touch in your old age?” Dorian said.  “We are all _matching_ in some way, I’m sure you can figure out _how_.”

It took only a moment, once he had that clue.  They were all wearing little pendants, fangs set in black-silver metal.  “Nice necklaces, everyone,” Bull said.  “I take it I’m getting one, too?”

“Yes,” Dorian said.  He seemed oddly excited and pleased with himself, and motioned at the girls.  Ursula produced a little box of black wood and pushed it toward him.

“Happy birthday, Tama!” the girls said, not exactly in unison, but equally excited.

“Aw, guys, _thanks_ ,” Bull replied.  He opened the box and, sure enough, a matching pendant was within.  “What made you think of it?”

“Well - can you tell what it’s made of?” Dorian said, a little air of impatience entering his voice.

“Uh… well, it’s a tooth, I guess,” Bull said.

“A _dragon_ tooth!” Ursula said.

“Actually, a dragonling… They all came out of the same skull, though,” Cora added.  “Miss Dagna said she could split them, but then they’d be too small.”

Something in the words stirred thoughts up in his head.  “Split them…?”

“Well… yes, that’s how I came to understand the whole thing,” Dorian said.  “A dragon’s tooth, split into halves, as a reminder of union even in distance.  Though we all thought it would be best if we _all_ got a bit, so…”

Bull was surprised.  Honestly, happily, bizarrely surprised.  “How did you - know about that?”

“What, you mean the tooth?”

“That’s a - that’s a _really_ obscure qunari thing, Dorian, hardly _anyone_ does it.”

“Well, I… read it in a book,” Dorian said, with a finality in his voice that suggested it wasn’t any effort at all but in fact really was.  “I thought it would be a nice gesture.”

Dragonling teeth, all from the same skull.  Union in distance.

“...Tama, do you not like it?” Cora said.

“Imekari, the last time your father did something this wonderful for me, he almost set the bed on fire.”

“Why did you do _that_ , Papa?” Ursula said.

“...Ursula, my dear child, there will come moments in your life when you are so very - happy that just have to let it out _somehow_ ,” Dorian said.  “And sometimes that ends up setting things on fire.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

Bull, meanwhile, fastened the cord around his neck.  The tiny fang was heavy with love and meaning.

He kept it on well into the evening, and into his bed.  There, Dorian made a great show of presenting himself as some rebelliously willing prize for Bull to take as he pleased.  Bull happily complied.

And he kept it on in the morning, and the morning after that, and all the days after.

Of course, not every gift was as well-received as the ones the girls and their fathers gave to each other.

There came a day that a parcel arrived at the Skyhold compound, neatly-wrapped, and bearing the trade-markers of the Tevinter Imperium and House Pavus.  It was addressed to “Ursula Felicia and Cordula Cornelia, care of Dorian Pavus.”

Dorian unwrapped it himself before giving it to the girls, or even telling them that something had arrived.  It _was_ addressed to him, care of.  He didn’t feel guilty.

Inside the parcel were two staffs, and three letters.  Two were addressed to the girls, and one was for Dorian.  Dorian only opened his, this time.

_My son,_

_I enjoyed your most recent letter detailing the education of your wards Cordula and Ursula, and hope their studies continue onward in a similarly satisfactory manner.  The staffs are for them.  I understand they had their name-days not long ago._

_There is, however, a matter we must discuss.  By my counting, you have been gone from Tevinter nearly ten years.  Serving the Inquisition cannot come over serving the Imperium.  I intend to retire soon, and my seat in the Magisterium shall be yours and, by association, one of your wards’._

_I will be at the villa on the Nevarran border from 10 Solis to the 14th, along with your mother.  I expect you to meet me there, regardless of whom you bring with you.  There will be consequences if you are absent._

_I do wish to meet your wards and see how you’ve been raising them for myself.  If you truly intend for one to inherit your seat, I must be assured that their education thus far has been appropriate for future magisters._

_I look forward to seeing you next month._

_Halward_

Dorian could not go forward without discussing the message with Bull.  Even the idea of going forth and carrying on without Bull’s consent made him feel uneasy and oddly defenseless.  Though Bull would likely be fine with the prospect, perhaps even more-so.

And he was.  His reaction to Dorian showing him the letter was, “Well, I guess it’s finally time.  When do you want to head out?  That’s a good week’s journey.”

Dorian didn’t say anything.  There was tight apprehension in his chest.

Bull noticed.  “Kadan, are you okay?”

Dorian shook his head, sighed, laughed at himself.  “How long did I think I could keep this up?” he said.  “I knew this would happen.  I thought I was preparing.”

“You’ve been preparing them, Dorian.  The girls will be fine.”

“I mean preparing for _me_ to go back,” Dorian said.  “For good.  The villa is just a prelude.”

“I know.”

Dorian kept his eyes to the ground.  Bull didn’t look upset, and that hurt more.  “All these years, amatus, and I still can’t tell myself that I’ll be able to take you with me.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Bull said.  “Just think about the fact that your father is still on for the girls as your heirs.  You’re doing this for them, not me.”

“I am, but… I don’t want to do it _without_ you.”

Dorian felt Bull’s arms, warm and certain and there, around him.  “No matter what happens, I’ll still be here,” Bull said.  “I have proof.  Union in distance.”

Dorian hadn’t taken off his dragon-fang pendant either, and he became suddenly, unbearably aware of its presence against his skin, under his clothes.

“I suppose you have a point,” Dorian said, but he couldn’t say anything more.

He kept his doubt well away from the girls as he presented their grandfather’s gifts to them.  They were beautiful, ancient things, though a creeping, sour feeling of guilt lined Dorian’s stomach as he watched his daughters try them out.  He chalked it up to the fact that one of them was clearly of elven make, and nothing else.

At the prospect of meeting their grandparents, the girls were actually happy.  Which Dorian expected, but it still made him feel like a liar in some way or another.  “So we’re going on a holiday?” Ursula concluded, after the details were all laid out.  “All the way over in Nevarra?”

“Yes, Ursa,” Dorian said.  “For a full week!  And it’s a lovely old house, too.  I used to go there, myself, when I was your age.”

(Though Dorian’s memories of that place were of servants pulling him this way and that, and his parents existing in shadows and notes left to his governess.)

(Here, they would be _too_ present.)

“Are Tama’s people going to be okay without him there?” Cora said - the people, of course, being Bull’s mercenaries, who went out with him “on business” from time to time.

“Uncle Krem’s got this handled, imekari,” Bull said.  “He’ll keep them busy.”

“And Bunny too?”

“ _Especially_ Bunny,” Bull said.

The weeks leading up to the visit attempted to make a mess of Dorian, if his emotional state was any indication.  Everything he saw or heard or felt was tied into some indescribable, suddenly-near future, where everything was poison and disappointment.

Would the girls behave in front of his father?  Of course they would, they had excellent manners, they had been tutored by _Vivienne_ , for the love of the Maker, they would do fine in front of Halward.

But what of their magic?  Ursula was competent but her technique was unfinished, rough, but she was only _seven_ years old - and Cora’s affinity for spirits and healing was so difficult to demonstrate, since certainly Halward would demand to see results, would want to see the power of his bloodline manifested in Dorian’s children.

But - they were just his _wards_.  Would he - _could_ he, even, tell his father that the girls were his blood?  Or would he just keep riding on assumptions, as he had been doing for - had it really been seven years?  A great, glorious coward, he was, holding and holding off until the pressure got too much, all the while claiming that there was no pressure to begin with.

He knew, to his shame, that his father was too desperate for his house to continue to turn down the possibility of an heir _with_ a spare.  But Halward’s disappointment was a very dangerous thing.

He tried to deny himself the hope that, if by some loophole of law and logic, an assumed qunari - not half-human, there was no such thing - could serve in the Magisterium, then perhaps Bull would be able to live by his side as well.  Because that wasn’t a hope.  That was a delusion.

Two days before they were due to leave, Dorian found himself awake, alone, in the house.  He’d been finding it difficult to sleep, lately, and was trying to distract himself with tea and an intensely dry treatise on the uses of magic as infusions in potion-crafting.  None of it was working, despite his eyes growing increasingly bleary and his body aching with fatigue.

“You don’t need to be afraid, Dorian.”  Cole’s voice came, soft and detached, from nowhere in particular, so it took a moment for Dorian to find him with his eyes after getting over the initial startle.

“Not terribly good advice from people popping out of the shadows unannounced!” Dorian replied.  “Cole, what are you doing here?”

Cole was standing just a few paces from Dorian’s chair.  “It got too loud,” he said.

“Er… _what_ got too loud?”

Cole shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking almost anxious.  “Ursula - smiling, shining, sun and song  - she wants to make you proud.  She _does_ make you proud,” he said.  “And Cordula - she listens, sees in silence what another eye would miss.  She sees your sorrow, and she saddens.  She says nothing.”

“Waxing lyrical about my daughters is not helping me, Cole.  If that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“But… there is no _pain_ in them,” Cole said, a little desperately, “no fear, just... little wants.  They ache, but they don’t hurt.  You don’t need to fear for them.”

“Thank you, Cole!” Dorian said, in a sing-song tone of dismissal, raising his book to his face.

“ _Listen._   The Iron Bull, he tells you that you are his, but he does not think he owns you,” Cole said.  “He sees a service, serving you, but there is no debt, no doubt.  He wants you to be happy.”

This was a losing battle.  Dorian put down his book.  “Yes, Cole.  I know he does,” he said.  “People tend to want that for their loved ones.”

“He isn’t afraid, either.  He tells you, but you don’t believe him.”

“He… hasn’t said that to me,” Dorian said.  Not those exact words, no.

“He said, ‘Union in distance,’” Cole said.

Silence settled.

“...I’m sorry.  I thought that was a metaphor.  He thinks about you when he says it, when he feels the fang against his fingers, fear forgotten fully.  A heart can hurt, but it cannot leave.”  Cole wrung his hands.  “I don’t know what words are supposed to mean, sometimes.”

“...no, Cole, I think you got it right,” Dorian said.  His hand had risen to his neck, the tiny pendant.  “It means that he isn’t afraid.”

“Yes.  Good…!  That helped.  I think I’ll let this stay.  The words were… right, this time.”

Dorian furrowed his brow.  “ _This_ time?”

If Cole said anything more, Dorian couldn’t remember, for his next memory was of waking.  Bull was still asleep, but he was there, warm and present and relaxed.  Without fear.

Dorian felt rested, well.  He would still worry, but he was no longer so afraid.

 


	7. On Passing

Dorian adjusted the small gold circlet on Ursula’s head for perhaps the fifth time, then tapped his foot on the floor, a hand on his chin.  Waiting.

“You’ll be fine, kadan,” Bull told him.

Dorian fussed, and bent down to redo the sash on Cora’s frock.  “Now, girls, remember.  When my father comes in, you will wait until he speaks to you, and then you’ll reply with…?”

“Avanna benefar, Magister Pavus,” Ursula said, half-whining.  “I _know_ , Papa.”

“Just… speak when you’re spoken to.  On your best behavior.  Yes.”  Dorian stood up, crossed his arms, and began tapping his foot again.  “Maker preserve me.”

Cora put a gray little hand on his arm, looking up, hesitation in her lake-water eyes.  “I’ll be good, Papa,” she said, quietly.  “Promise.”

Tension wound and unwound in Dorian’s chest, and his face relaxed.  “I know you will be, little heart,” he told her, patting her on the head.  Small, fine wires of silver had been wound around her horns that day, and they gleamed against the darkness of her hair.

And the doors to the villa’s parlor opened.

Halward looked tired.  There were broad swathes of grey at his temples, though elegantly swept-back and fastened with a cord.  There were more wrinkles on his face, now, more than Dorian was expecting for the seven-odd years of distance.

Yet, still, he spoke warmly and well.  Years of experience in the Magisterium could make up for a great deal.  “Avanna benefar,my son.  It has been too long.”

Dorian bowed, as was expected of him.  “Father,” he said.  “It has indeed.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.  So much to discuss, what with all the news coming from the south,” Halward continued, though his breath seemed to cut out mid-thought.  “Ah, but what am I saying?  You are not my only visitor.  These are your wards, I expect?”

“Yes, Father,” Dorian said.  He stepped aside, and gestured.  “My daughters, Cordula Cornelia and Ursula Felicia.”

“Avanna benefar, Magister Pavus…”  Cora’s voice was only a bit above a whisper, and her curtsey was little more than a bend of her knees.

“Avanna benefar, Magister Pavus.”  Ursula gave a curtsey that would have made _Vivienne_ proud, Dorian found himself thinking, her hands gracefully upturned at the wrist.  Her voice was clear, but not loud.

“Hm.”  Halward’s tone was neutral, perhaps curious, perhaps measuring.  “I seem to recall you telling me that you adopted two _qunari_ infants, but I only see one here,” he continued.  “You, what’s your name?”

“Ursula Felicia Pavus, ser.”

“Are you actually human, then?”

“What…?”

“I - er, she doesn’t have _horns_ ,” Dorian said, quickly, before the question could sink in, “but she _is_ qunari, Father.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, quietly, firmly.  Bull was standing some feet away from him, but Dorian’s empty hand curled as if he were there. 

“Please, pardon this old man’s foolishness, then,” Halward said, an apologetic bend of a bow coming upon his body.  “I’ve simply waited so long for any form of grandchildren to appear that it seems wishful thinking got the better of me.  Of course they’re both qunari.”

Cora kept her head bowed, her expression demure, or perhaps shamed.  Ursula was blinking a little too rapidly for comfort, though she kept a small smile on her face.  His daughters stood only a short distance away from him, but Dorian had never felt so far away and unavailable to them.  

“And, speaking of, this is the Iron Bull himself, is it?” Halward said, looking up.  “Quite an impressive specimen, you are.”

“Thank you, Magister,” Bull said, without a drop of sincerity.

“Am I to understand that you are Dorian’s… _companion_ , then?” Halward continued, his tone equally empty.

Dorian felt tension in his neck, squirming heat in his gut.  Disapproval.

“Yes.  He is my companion,” Dorian managed, wishing, _wishing_ , that he could be louder, more confident, _real_.  But everything in him shrunk and shriveled.  Hiding for safety, for an uncertain negotiation, for the sake of the ones he loved.

“Well, if you’ve… carried on like this for so long without killing each other, then I suppose I have nothing further to fear!” Halward said.  He almost sounded cheerful.  “Excellent.  Now, your mother is in the dining room with the food.  Shall we?”

“Yes, we shall,” Dorian said.  “Cordula, Ursula?  Follow me.”

“Yes, Papa,” Ursula said.  Cora said nothing.

Dorian was afraid to even reach for Bull’s hand.  He proceeded down the hall, following his father, feeling stiff and limited.

His mother looked well, at least.  Her eyes were heavily-kohled and her hair was tied in a manner that seemed at once careful and haphazard.  She also had a wine glass in her hand, already.

“ _Dorian_ ,” she said, her voice warm and genuinely welcoming.  “ _Finally_ we get a chance to see each other.  It’s been too long.”

“It’s good to see you as well, Mother,” Dorian replied.  He let her kiss him on both of his cheeks, her hands on his arms.

“Oh, and are these the qunari?”  She made a fluttering sort of gesture, and her lips parted a little as she looked upon them.  “Oh, my, my.  Such a handsome collection, Dorian.  I certainly cannot fault you for taste.”

“Yes, Aquinea.”  Halward took what was best described as his place beside his wife, putting a hand around her back, gesturing with the other.  “The companion is Iron Bull and the two children are Ursula and Cordula.”

Words weren’t even forming in Dorian’s throat.  His tongue was dry.

“Oh, she looks so much _like_ you, Dorian,” Aquinea continued, extending a hand to Ursula and brushing a wisp of hair behind her shoulder.  “You finally went and sowed your seeds _properly_ , did you?”

“Dearest, they’re qunari,” Halward said.  “Not his.”

“Oh?  But this one doesn’t have horns.”  She held her cup to her lips as she thought.  “Odd.  Thought she was Dorian’s.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to talk about this further over dinner,” Halward said.  “Won’t we?”

Dorian just nodded.  He took his place, as did the others.  A server filled his cup with wine, and he drank it down a little too eagerly.  It made his throat feel a little less dry, at least.

The first courses were laid out before them in silence, though Dorian managed to find his voice by then.  “Ah, pea-and-lentil soup!  How long has it been since I’ve had this?” he said, brandishing his spoon.  “You’d be _astonished_ at how difficult it seems to be to find a decent broth down south.”

“I put the menu together myself,” Aquinea replied.  “All your old favorites.  There’s quail stuffed with dates coming up later,” she added, almost whispering, as if it were a secret.  She glanced at Bull as she did so.

Bull ate delicately, slowly.  “My compliments to your chef, ma’am,” he said.  “It’s all delicious.”

Aquinea laughed into her wine glass.  Bull returned to his soup.

The soup was cleared away, and replaced with the aforementioned quails.  Dorian and Bull made token attempts at conversation with Dorian’s mother, mostly about the food.  His father, the girls all kept a safe silence with each other.

And then Halward spoke up.  “So - Ursula, is it?” he said, gesturing at the girl.  “Dorian tells me that you’re a budding mage!  Is that correct?”

“Yes, Magister Pavus,” she replied.

“And what are your areas of study?” he said.  “Entropy?  Spirit?”

“I’m only… just starting out,” Ursula said.  Dorian saw one of his smiles in miniature on her face, smooth and well-defended.  “I have the easiest time with things like… fire, electricity.  I still have a lot to learn.”

“Is that so?” Halward said.  “You’ll have to give a demonstration while you’re here.  I insist.”

“I would be honored, Magister Pavus,” Ursula said, her words, for a moment, rote and polished.  “But, really, Cora’s much better at magic than I am.  You should see what _she_ can do.”

“Ah, yes, the other one?” Halward said.  “And what is _your_ focus?”

Cora shoved garnishes around on her plate with her fork.  “I like… talking to spirits, and… looking at things in the Fade, I guess…”

“Really?  You can dream?”

“Father, of course she can dream,” Dorian said.  His voice rose just a little.

“Just curious,” Halward said.  He kept his eyes impartially on his meal, cutting another bit of meat off the stuffed quail.  “I was under the impression that qunari _didn’t_ dream.”

“Most of them don’t,” Bull said.  “But there are always exceptions.”

“Apparently so,” Halward said.

“Bit of a shrinking violet for a qunari mage, isn’t she?” Aquinea said.  “I should hope you don’t sew her mouth shut.  She seems to be doing just fine on her own.”

Bull responded almost immediately.  “I would never do that to Dorian’s children,” he said. 

“Dorian’s children? Is that how you see them, then?” Halward said.

“He’s their father, yes,” Bull said.

No affirmations, no denials, just assumptions.  Dorian reached for his wine again.

“So what does that make you?”  Halward said.  Dorian could tell, from the rising of his voice, that he was leading up to a debate, a statement.  Bull could probably tell, as well.

“The girls call me Tamassran.  I’m their caretaker.” 

“That some kind of qunari word?” Aquinea said, her voice light with tipsy curiosity.  “Tam-has-run.”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s Qunlat,” Bull said.  “The girls have picked some up from me, as well.”

“And you are educating them in the ways of the Qun as well, I expect?” Halward continued.

“No,” Bull said.  “I no longer follow the Qun.  It would not be my place.”

“As you say,” Halward said.  “Still, why _study_ such an unnecessary language?”

“The girls are qunari, Father,” Dorian said.  “I want them to have _some_ connection to their heritage.  They are learning Tevene as well, and for the same reasons.”

“Well, at the very least, they’ll be well-read,” Halward said.

“If… you’d like, Magister Pavus, I could recite some of the Chant of Light for you…” Cora said, one of her hands meekly-raised.  “Father has us learning it.”

“Oh, she knows the Chant of Light!  Yes, dear, do go ahead,” Aquinea said.  Halward gave a nod of permission.

Cora closed her eyes, and recited.  “For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.  As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards light.  The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.”  She opened her eyes.  “Transfigurations Ten.”

“Oh, lovely, _lovely_ ,” Aquinea said, clapping a little.  “One of my favorites.”

“Impressive,” Halward said.  “Ursula, do you have any passages memorized?”

“Oh, um… Yes, Magister,” Ursula said.  She cleared her throat, and frowned, thinking.  “Um… to you, my second-born, I grant you this gift.  In your heart shall burn an un… unquestionable flame.  Um…”

“All-consuming and…”  Cora whispered, just barely loud enough to be heard.

“All-consuming and never satisfied!”  There was an embarrassed smile on Ursula’s face.  “I’m sorry, Magister, I haven’t studied it nearly as much as Cora…”

“Quite all right.  You’re still very young,” Halward said.  “You’ll have plenty of time to learn.”

“How remarkable,” Aquinea said.  “The little calf knows the Chant better than the human.”

“They’re both _qunari_ , dearest,” Halward said.  His voice was sharper than his knife.

The girls were looking to each other, uneasily.

“Mm.”  Aquinea took another sip from her glass, and motioned for it to be refilled.  Dorian did the same.

“Tell me, son,” Halward said, “while we’re on the subject, why in the world did you take in two _qunari_ infants and not _humans?_   Did this companion of yours influence your decision?”

“I don’t - see how that’s relevant, Father,” Dorian said.

“It _will_ be relevant when they come of age and have to face the questions of the _Magisterium_ ,” Halward said.

“Husband, don’t discuss work at the table, it’s terribly rude,” Aquinea said, idly.

“I just want his rationale,” Halward said.  “Hasn’t come up _once_ in our correspondence.  I do believe I’m being fairly tactful.”

“...Father, if you wish to discuss this with me, then… can it wait until after dinner, when the girls aren’t present?” Dorian said.

“What is it that you can’t discuss in _front_ of them, save whatever… unmentionable business you have with their _caretaker?_ ” Halward said.

“I wish to spare them the shame of their grandparents talking about them as if they are _animals_.”

“ _Manners,_ Dorian,” Aquinea said, in the same tone with which one would scold a very small child.

“I feel I’ve been rather fair to your wards, Dorian,” Halward began, “especially since-”

“They are not my _wards_ , Father, they are _my daughters!_ ”  Dorian slammed his hands against the edge of the table, halfway to standing.

“If you insist,” Halward said.

“I _do_ insist,” Dorian seethed.

“ _Why is Papa angry?_ ”  Cora spoke, softly, in Qunlat.

“ _Be calm, imekari, this will pass,_ ” Bull replied.

“ _Forgive me, little heart.  I am sorry,_ ” Dorian said.  He was measuring his breaths, his anger.

“What, you speak it, too?” Halward said.

“Yes, Father,” Dorian said, “I have been learning.”

“Clever lad.  No saying things behind your back, I imagine,” Aquinea said.  “Might we continue on to dessert, by the way?  Seems everyone’s done with their quail.”

“By all means,” Dorian said, lowly.  Halward just nodded.

Even as the candied plums and sweet cheeses were carried out to replace the quail, the atmosphere hardly lightened.  Ursula and Cora looked more like sad little dolls than their usual selves, stiff and avoiding eye contact.

Dorian ate only one of the candied fruits, and made a very obvious show of swallowing it.  “Yes, well!  Lovely dinner, everyone, let’s do this again sometime.”  He stood, and marched for the exit to the hall.

“Retiring so soon?” Halward said.

“Hardly.”  Dorian paused at the door, looking back.  “I wish to meet you in the library, Father.  In one hour’s time.”

“As you wish,” Halward said.

“...all right, girls, it’s time to go.”  Bull rose, slowly, and held his hands slightly away from himself for them to hold.  “Thank you for the meal, Magister Pavus, Mistress Pavus.”

“Oh!  You are so very, very welcome,” Aquinea said.

“Yes.  It was quite enlightening, getting to meet you,” Halward said, flatly.

“Say good-night, girls,” said Bull.

“Good night,” Ursula said, her voice dull and muted.

“Avanna noctis,” Cora said.

They went through the door, after Dorian.

“So polite, for an oxman,” Aquinea concluded, as they were leaving.  “And so well-spoken, too.”

The girls held very, very tightly to Bull’s hands, until they were in the safe confines of their suite.

Cora let go, first, and put forth a cautious hand.  “...Papa, are you okay?”

Dorian was breathing deeply, carefully, with difficulty.  “I’m… sorry, darling,” he said, “that certainly could have gone better.”

“Do you need a hug?” Cora said.

“Yes.  A hug might do.”

Cora went forward, then Ursula, both of them holding Dorian, his arms wrapped around their backs.  Bull kept the door in his peripheral vision.

“I want you both to know that I love you very, very much, no matter what your grandfather says,” Dorian said, once the silence had lasted long enough, letting go of them.  “No matter what he says.”

“Grandfather was saying some really weird things,” Ursula said.  “And Grandmother.  Why did they keep asking if I was human?”

“You don’t have horns, Ursa, that’s probably why…” Cora said.

“But…” Ursula looked up at her father, hurt and confusion in her brown eyes.  “Is there something wrong with being a qunari, Papa?”

Dorian bent low and held them both again.

“No, my imekari.  You should be proud of who you are.”  He was saying this to them, to himself.  “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“But… does Grandfather think that being a human is better?” Ursula said, her voice muffled by her father’s robes against her face.

“Your grandfather… thinks a lot of things.  Things that are not, and will never, be true,” Dorian said.  “That is one of them.  It doesn’t matter if you’re… human, or qunari.  You are _my daughters_.”

“And you’re our Papa,” Cora said.  Her body was warm and so small as she hugged him a little tighter.

“Yes.  Yes, I am.”

Dorian tried to make it look like he was brushing a stray hair out of his eyes when he stood again.  His eyes were hot, but he was not crying.

“Now, let’s all of us settle in for the night, hm?” he said.  “I think we could all use a spot of tea.  Why don’t I go look for some?  I’m sure it won’t take long.”

“Want me to go with you?” Bull said.

“...yes, I would.”

“Girls, do you remember your way back to your room here?”

“Yes, Tama,” Cora said.

“Then we’ll come back with the tea.”

There was no need for tea, of course.  But there was a need for a moment alone. 

“Okay,” Cora said.  Her voice and her posture were uncertain.  She knew, but she left anyway, with Ursula silently leading.

They found privacy in an alcove down the hall.  Dorian finally reached for Bull’s hands, and he held them.

“It’s all right, kadan,” Bull said.

Dorian breathed in through his nose, his lips pressed tightly.  “I need to talk to my father.”

“You should wait.”

“I _can’t_ wait.  I told him an hour.  I want to talk to him now.”

“Dorian,” Bull said, evenly, “you’re drunk.  You should wait.”

“I wouldn’t be able to talk to him if I _wasn’t_.”  A  frustrated, self-loathing sigh.  “Whoever called it liquid courage wasn’t bloody _kidding_.”

“All right, Dorian,” Bull said.  “Do you want me to go in with you?”

Dorian paused.  “...no.  No, you don’t - I don’t want you to see this.  This is - you’ll get dragged into it and you shouldn’t be.  I don’t want that.”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll go get some tea and bring it to the girls,” Bull said.  “I’ll tell them you went to speak with your father.”

Dorian exhaled again, and pressed himself against Bull’s chest in an exhausted embrace.  “Thank you,” he said.  “Thank you.  I’m so glad you’re here.”

Bull held him until he felt Dorian’s body stiffen back to standing, and he let go.  “I’ll be right here,” he said.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said again.   And he turned to walk down the hallway, and into the library, where he would meet with his father.

Dorian was still pacing when Halward came.  “Well, my son, here we are,” he said.  “A private place for a private conversation.  Shall we continue where we left off?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, facing him.  “Please.  After you.”

“Very well,” Halward said, crisply.  “On the matter of your wards, then.”

“My daughters.”

“Your _wards_.”  Halward’s voice hardened.  This was not going to be an argument.  “These children are not even _human_ , Dorian.  They are fortunate creatures with a powerful house as their sponsors, but they will never be true Pavuses.”

“Really!”  Dorian balanced with his hand on a nearby desk, for support, for making a point.  “What if I were to tell you, then, that they _are_ true Pavuses?”

“Merely saying something does not make it true,” Halward said. 

“True,” Dorian said.  “If that were the case, then we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“Yes,” Halward said, without emotion.  “And I would actually _believe_ you when you tell me that the children in your care are my blood descendents.”

“They _are._   I fathered them, with the help of my _companion_.”

“And how, pray tell, did you manage that?” Halward said.  “Some manner of magic?”

“Turns out, I didn’t even _need_ to resort to blood magic!” Dorian said.  “Qunari, conveniently, can bear children in any state!  Male, female, or otherwise!  _That_ is how I managed, Father.  I have _lain_ with the enemy and produced a set of heirs.  You are _quite_ welcome.”

Dorian wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the sheer exhilaration of letting it all out, but he felt immensely dizzy, his heart pounding in his ears.  He managed to keep his posture rigid, authoritative.

Halward was satisfyingly silent, his face similarly drained.

“Well?” Dorian said, when he still didn’t answer.  “Do you have anything to say to me?”

“This isn’t some… elaborate means of making me look like a _fool_ , is it?” Halward finally said.  “You truly fathered them?”

“Well, unless Bull has been carrying on behind my back all this time,” Dorian said, “there are no other candidates.  And _you_ heard Mother.  Ursula _does_ quite resemble me, doesn’t she?”

Halward’s eyes wandered, his mouth opening and closing without words.  “Enough of this,” he said.  “I am retiring to my chambers.”

“Overwhelmed, are we?”

“I need to think about what you’ve told me,” Halward said.  “If what you said is true.”

“Oh, it’s all true, I assure you!” Dorian said.

Halward closed the door behind him.

Dorian sat down, though “collapsed” was likely the better term for it.  Not wine, definitely not the wine.  Excitement and fear and some thin variety of pride, maybe.  He hadn’t spoken to his father that way since…

No, no, he wasn’t being “fixed,” here.  He was defending what he already had.  He was correcting _Halward_.

When he’d fantasized about this encounter, in the past, he’d been far more reasoned, more even-tempered, but he had to take what he could get.  He’d held his own.  He’d survived.

Dorian adjusted himself, his hair, his face, before he left the library.  Bull and the girls were huddled around a small table with tea and a plate of cookies, apprehension present in all of them.

“My!  Tea _and_ cookies?  You spoil us, amatus,” Dorian said, brightly, as he approached them.  “Come on, now, let’s have us a cup.”

“Did Grandfather apologize to you, Papa?” Ursula said.

Dorian paused mid-pour.  “He didn’t need to apologize to me,” he said.  “But I did set some things straight, I think.”

“And that’s good?”

“Yes, Ursa.  That’s very good.”

\--

Halward presented the result of his thinking to Dorian the following afternoon, after not showing up to breakfast and being fairly scarce otherwise.  Aquinea had taken the girls to an airy wing of the villa to have tea, leaving Bull and Dorian some time to themselves.

He announced his arrival with a knock on the suite door, entering shortly afterward.  “Dorian, do you have a moment?”

Halward was the sort of man to have favors called for him by servants, slaves, and other third-parties.  Dorian put down his book without hesitation.  “Well, this is unexpected.  What do you require of me, Father?”

“I wished to… discuss matters of inheritance with regards to your… daughters.”  Halward looked over his shoulder, as if to check that it was closed, that nobody was listening.  “Given what I now know.”

A gentle flash of surprise entered Dorian’s eyes.  “Well… yes, of course, I would be - _glad_ to,” he said.  He sat up, and his father took a seat across from him.  Bull watched on from his chair, silent and uninvolved.

“After thinking it over, I have decided that I would be willing to formally recognize Ursula as your heir apparent,” Halward said.  He was unwrapping a small parcel in his hands, an amulet.  The shape of it burned with familiarity.

“That’s - Ursula, specifically?” Dorian said.  “Surely you’d prefer to wait until they’re older, see which one is more suited to politics?”

Halward sighed, deep and disappointed.  “Dorian.  Appearances have to be maintained.  House Pavus cannot have a qunari as its heir.  Ursula looks human enough for the purpose.”

“...really?”  Dorian’s voice softened, then grew in fervor.  “That is - _honestly_ the reason you are giving me?”

“Do you not follow?” Halward said.  “The option is available, so I intend to take the more reasonable offer.  Ursula would be received better.  The other one, the one with the horns - she would raise _questions_ , distractions.”

“Her name,” Dorian said, “is Cordula.”

“Regardless,” Halward said.  “This is the more expedient option.  Naturally, I’ll also support the education of the other one, I’m sure there’s a use for her.”

“No,” Dorian said.

“...I’m sorry?”

“No.  You will recognize both of my daughters, or you will get neither of them.”

“Did I somehow give you the impression that you are in a position to negotiate?” Halward said.  “What I am offering to you is - _exceedingly_ generous.”

“And if I refuse, you are, once again, without a means of continuing your line,” Dorian said.  “If anything, _you’re_ the one without any position to negotiate.  They are _both_ my daughters,” he continued.  “I will not deny one her birthright simply because of how she _looks_.”

“Dorian, be _reasonable_ ,” Halward said.  “I can only overlook so _much_.  Your - tendencies, and your companion, I can live with those.  I can compromise, I am not above that.  You see?”

“Denial is _not_ compromise,” Dorian said.

“I am not going to name some horned savage the heir apparent of House Pavus!” Halward said.  “It is simply not _done!_ ”

“Then you shall have to do without!” Dorian said.  “Like it or not, my daughters are _both_ qunari, and I would sooner _drown_ myself than let you _change_ them!”

Bull, the observer, leaned forward slightly.

“Dorian!  I would not be changing _anybody_ ,” Halward said, and for a moment his voice broke with desperation and guilt.

“Forcing them to deny what they are?  Telling them they have to hide if they want to keep their place in the world?”  Dorian was breathing heavily, crouched as if to spring.  “I refuse to let my daughters go through what _I_ suffered, no thanks to you.”

And Halward just sighed, shook his head.  “Clearly you aren’t in the mood for a discussion.”

“This is not a discussion.  These are terms,” Dorian said.

Halward began wrapping the amulet back up.  “I’ll give you some time to reconsider.”

“Same to you, Father,” Dorian said.

Halward left without another word.

Bull joined him on the chaise.  He put his arm around Dorian, his palm cupping Dorian’s shoulder.

“Just breathe, big guy,” he said.

Dorian breathed.  He was trembling, now.  “I’m quite certain that was either the bravest or the most foolish thing that I have ever done,” he said, a nervous tremor of a laugh in his voice.

“I’m going to lean toward ‘brave,’ kadan,” Bull said.

“Yes.  You are, after all, a remarkably unbiased source…”  Dorian stared at his hands, still shivering.  “Bull… did I do the right thing?”

“You told him what you wanted for the girls, and you defended them without backing down,” Bull said.  “You did what you thought was best.”

“He wanted to… just pretend that Cordula didn’t _exist_ ,” Dorian said.  “Did you hear how he _talked_ about her?”

“I did.”

“All over… looking _human_.  _Maker,_ I am a fool.”

“I’d say the fool here is your father, kadan,” Bull said.  “Ursula’s gonna be taller than you in a few years.  Dunno how he thought he could explain _that_ away.”

“Oh…”  A new flavor of dismay crossed Dorian’s face.  “Will she, now.”

“Mhm.  Might even end up taller than _me_.  Who knows.”

“I refuse to entertain the notion any further than that, thank you,” Dorian said.  He leaned against Bull’s chest.  “They are my daughters and they must always be smaller than I am.”

“Yeah?”

“How else am I going to keep them safe…?”

“We’ll manage, kadan.”

Dorian did not reconsider his father’s offer.  Dorian barely even spoke to Halward for the remainder of their stay, in fact, and his farewells to his mother were practically form-written.

(The girls, at least, had found some manner of friendship with their grandmother.  Ursula, especially, took immense pleasure in Aquinea’s suggestion that she write to her as frequently as possible, so they could continue gossiping ruthlessly about Tevinter’s nobility.)

(Even at a young age, Ursula had a fiery fondness for a good bit of dirt.)

They arrived back at their home in Skyhold, and life continued on.  Matters of inheritance were not discussed, nor were they brought up or mentioned.  The outside stayed out, and peace was kept in.

For one year, this continued.  This lasted. 

And nearly ten years to the day since the appointment of the Inquisition, an Exalted Council was called.  Dorian received many letters from Maevaris, in the days leading up to the Council, for she was attending the proceedings as Tevinter’s ambassador.   Any mention of Halward was only ever in passing.

Bull and the Chargers were out on business, at the time, leaving Dorian with an inordinately empty house in a castle that was equally, unnervingly empty. He waited with care and anxiety for Bull’s return, and for news of the Council.

And he waited for the peace to end, for such things never lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Dorian and his family will continue in a new fic for the series, titled "In Absentia." The content is going to be a bit heavier, and thematically different, so I thought to keep it separate. I do hope you all enjoy it.


End file.
